(this page posted by Joe Lapp) 

Owen Davis became a friend of my parents when they moved to Kenilworth in the 1960's.  They were impressed with his righteous character and by his concern for his lower income Kenilworth Courts neighbors, whose children shared Kenilworth Elementary with Eastland Gardens children.

During my recent years in Kenilworth doing research on the history of the neighborhood, he became a friend to me as well.  An elderly man with a long memory, I interviewed him about the history of the neighborhood.  It was always a treat to go and knock on the door of the 42nd Street home that he and his wife had moved into on the day of their October, 1939 wedding.  I loved hearing the booming "Who is it?" from his still-deep voice, and then being invited in to sit at his dining room table and chat.

Mr. Davis was the first African American in nearly every DC Metropolitan Police Department position as he climbed up the police force ranks.  He also stayed busy in the community, serving as president of the PTA at Kenilworth Elementary and later helping to provide leadership for the police Boys and Girls Club.  At one point protests over broken windows at the Kenilworth school earned him a personal call from Mayor Walter Washington asking if he could go and help smooth the problem out.

On DC streets he was legendary as "Foots" Davis, a respected officer who earned a reputation for tough yet fair justice.  One former troublemaker laughingly told me that Mr. Davis earned his nickname from his way of dealing with young toughs hanging on a street corner.   Approaching them, he would knock their cap off.  When they reached down to pick it up they suddenly found his foot pinning their hand to the sidewalk.  Captive, they had to listen as Mr. Davis whispered a few words of tough wisdom in their ear.

Steady, forceful, yet even-handed and compassionate, this was Owen Davis. He deserves to be remembered. 

Photo from the collection of Owen Davis

DC Metropolitan Police Department online obituary 

Owen Davis, MPD's First Black Deputy Chief, Passes Away at 91

October 2007
Submitted by Sgt. Nicholas Breul

On October 7, 2007, retired Deputy Chief Owen W. Davis passed away.  He was 91 years old.  Deputy Chief Davis was the first African American Officer to attain the rank of Captain, and then became the first to attain the rank of Deputy Chief.

He began his career in 1939, and was assigned to the Second Precinct where he walked a foot beat on 7th Street, NW.  While on that beat, he earned the nickname “Big Foot Davis.”  He earned that name by policing his beat in a manner that ensured that if verbal persuasion did not work, a firm boot in the rear would.

By 1965, Davis had achieved the rank of Captain and was credited with averting major disturbances in the area of the Eleventh precinct when he was transferred there in the midst of growing racial tension between that community and the police.

Davis was promoted to Deputy Chief in 1969 and, having proved instrumental in handling many major events, he went on to become the Patrol Division Commander. Chief Davis retired in 1973, after 34 years of service. He was a man who was well-liked, well-regarded and highly respected.  He paved the way for many, and represented our Department with distinction.

Found on the official DC Metropolitan Police Department website at http://mpdc.dc.gov/mpdc/cwp/view,a,1230,q,563454,mpdcNav_GID,1529,mpdcNav,%7C31458%7C.asp

The political cartoon below about Mr. Davis's appointment to the 11th Precinct, where he helped overcome racial tensions, was posted on the above page.  It shows Captain Davis being shown up the stairs of the 11th Precinct building with the caption, "I think you'll like it - when it's not being stoned."

Washington Post obituary 

Owen Davis; Police Force Leader Amid D.C. Turmoil

By Patricia Sullivan
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, November 3, 2007; Page B06

Owen White Davis, 92, the first black deputy police chief in the District, who led the patrol division and who was responsible for keeping the peace during tumultuous protests in the 1960s and 1970s, died of kidney disease Oct. 7 at Providence Hospital. He lived in Washington.

Mr. Davis, known within the police force as "Gentleman Jim" and among demonstrators as "Mad Dog Davis," was given the unenviable task of leading the special operations and tactical units just before the 1969 Poor People's March on Washington.

He was at all the city's upheavals during those volatile years: the 1971 anti-Vietnam War May Day disruptions, the Three Sisters Bridge brawl in 1969, and untold numbers of welfare sit-ins, race riots and disturbances at the District's Lorton prison complex in Fairfax County.

At 6-foot-2 and 250 pounds, even without his riot helmet and gear, Mr. Davis was an easy target for anti-establishment demonstrators.

He took a hard line against disturbances and personally hurled tear gas when a May Day crowd at Dupont Circle refused to disperse. He dodged countless rocks and was severely cut in 1970 by flying glass during a welfare riot, but he fired his gun only once, after being shot at while responding to a domestic disturbance in the 1950s.

"I believe in locking people up for violations of the law," he said in a 1972 interview with The Washington Post. "And I believe the best way to stop an illegal demonstration is to lock up the demonstrators -- very gently, though. . . . I don't believe in killing people . . . but I certainly believe in arresting people and I also believe in the copious use of tear gas."

Although he denigrated demonstrators as "hippies, yippies and crazies," he said in the 1972 interview he came to agree with their opposition to the Vietnam War. The war protests never threatened the stability of the government, he said, but if the race riots across the country had lasted longer, they "would have brought us closer to anarchy than anything else."

Mr. Davis crossed a metaphorical police barrier, consistently overcoming racial limitations in what was then a predominantly white police force. He was the second black corporal to be appointed, the first black uniformed sergeant, the second black lieutenant, the first black captain, the first black inspector and the first black deputy chief.

He had often been called upon to provide a calming influence during the volatile street uprising. "You do what you have to do and the hell with the rest," he told a Post reporter in 1972. "I just think of myself as one of the troops."

He was born in Elkins, W.Va., and moved to the District at 13. He graduated from the old Armstrong Technical High School, then worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps at camps in Virginia and Maryland.

He returned to Washington in 1936, attended Howard University for a year, then made mailbags for the Post Office Department. In 1939, he joined the city police, because a patrolman made $1,900, which was $700 more a year than he earned at the post office.

Only about 30 African Americans worked in the 1,500-man police force in 1939, and six were detective sergeants. No black officers ever rose higher. But in 1951, a new police chief, Robert Murray, promised to promote based on qualifications. So a group of black privates took the promotion exam, and Mr. Davis passed. He became a corporal and started his steady rise through the ranks. He made captain in 1964 and deputy commander in 1965.

He was the personal escort for the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. during the 1963 March on Washington for Peace and Freedom, which brought more than 200,000 demonstrators to the Lincoln Memorial.

Mr. Davis was named deputy commander in 1965 and, when he was in charge of the Anacostia police precinct, ordered all police "scout" cars be integrated. Some residents felt he hadn't gone far enough and demonstrated in front of the station house. Some militants said he had "sold out" and couldn't be trusted.

Mr. Davis dismissed those critics. He became a deputy commander of the special operations unit after the 1968 riots, which he didn't think solved any problems except to increase the number of black police recruits. Rank-and-file officers of both races spoke admiringly of his toughness on the street and his even-handedness in personnel matters.

When he retired in 1973, he was the longest-serving officer on the force, with 34 years of service. He became president of the Metropolitan Police Boys and Girls Club, lectured at Washington Technical Institute and worked on a doctorate at Virginia Tech.

He was active in numerous civic activities with the American Automobile Association's advisory board, the Boy Scouts of America, the Travelers Aid Association, the Eastland Gardens Civic Association and the Masons. Oct. 28, 1986, was declared Owen W. Davis Day in Washington by then-Mayor Marion Barry

"Naturally, I made a contribution," Mr. Davis said in 1976. "My career was a demonstration to other blacks that this can be done, a demonstration to whites that this is no cause for fear. But the real heroes in this thing, as the saying goes, were the people who labored in the vineyards for a long, long time. Those of us who received the benefits, we just happened along at the right time."

His wife of 66 years, Rhuedine Davis, died in 2005.

Survivors include a son, Alan Davis of Washington; a grandson; and two great-grandchildren.

Photo from the collection of Owen Davis.

Following are some excerpts from my oral history interview with Mr. Davis.

How Mr. Davis got his police job:

I was in Civilian Conservation Corps camp, and they offered me a temporary job in the Treasury Department.  A grade two clerk.  And of course I took it, I got out of camp.  I worked for three months then I was out of work again.

Then I got a job as a junior mechanic at the mail equipment shop.  Made mailbags.  I worked there for a year.

But in the mean time I was still taking examinations for civil service jobs.  So I went down to the Civil Service Commission.  This fellow I knew said, “Hey, you want a job?”

“Of course I want a job.  What do you think I’m coming down here for?”

He said, “Come in the room here.  I want you to meet someone.”  And there was the police lieutenant, and he was looking for someone to do some undercover work.  They wanted to get somebody new that even policemen didn’t know.

I got the job.  Worked undercover vice – they were trying to make the case against a big gambler out here, Jimmy LaFontaine.

Things did start changing after the war.  You know down at the Department of Motor Vehicles, DMV, if you arrested a person for a traffic violation and he’s going to court the next morning, we had to go to DMV to get his traffic record.  You go down there, you didn’t see any black faces at all.  It was all white.  Same thing in the police department, the clerical people were all white.

Finally that started changing, and they got it better in balance.  But you wonder sometimes, what would have happened if you’d had the same opportunity as others?  But then, after it’s all gone you’re just glad that you made out as well as you could.  That’s the way it goes.

Photo from the collection of Owen Davis.  He stands on the extreme right in the picture.  Beside him is Martin Luther King, Jr., then Reverend Fauntroy with his wife.  If anyone can help identify the two gentlemen on the left side, please write to me.

Mr. Davis’s encounters with Martin Luther King during the civil rights era:

That picture [above] shows me with Martin Luther King.  Reverend Fauntroy, who was the Southern Christian Leadership Conference representative here, and the civic leaders were agitating for voting rights in the District.  So Reverend Fauntroy invited King to lead a march to the White House to highlight the lack of voting rights.

This was an evening march, and they gathered on a vacant lot at 12th and Vermont Avenue, and then they proceeded down 12th Street.  I was captain of the precinct at the time.

When the march started down the street I was out on the flank, and King called to me, “Hey captain, come over here.

I said, “Yes, Doctor.”

He said, “How do you estimate this crowd?”

I said, “About ten thousand.”

He said, “You know, I understand you’re a very good police officer, but you can’t estimate a crowd worth a damn.  I say it’s twenty thousand.”

I said, “If you say it’s twenty thousand, that’s what it is,” and took my position back out on the flank.

The reporters started crowding around asking me what the estimate was, I said twenty thousand, and that’s what they put in the paper, twenty thousand. 

Another time King was to appear at the old Shaw Junior High School there at 7th and Rhode Island Avenue.  I was lieutenant at the time.  We had a couple of policemen around up there, and I was in charge.

There was a group called the American Nazis.  George Lincoln Rockwell, they wore the brown shirts like Hitler and all that sort of thing, and they appeared at these events.  The leader handed me a list of their people and asked where could they demonstrate.  I moved them down 7th Street as far away from the door as I could.

I put them on the other side of the street, opposite Shaw.  But there were several Jewish merchants along there, and the captain came up and said, “Davis, don’t do that to those Jewish merchants.  Move them on this side but away from the door.”  And so we moved them.

They marched up and down with inflammatory signs like “Martin Luther Coon” and all that sort of thing.  I had about ten policemen around them to keep people away.

When the meeting inside broke up and Doctor King came out, and he got in his car and was going away, this little nun was walking down the street.  She had been in the meeting.  She slipped between the policemen and tried to trip up one of the Nazi’s.  We just grabbed her and drove her away.

I met King one other time.  He was having a meeting in Florida, in Miami.  We thought it was a planning meeting for the Poor People’s Campaign.  So the chief told me to go, since I knew all the people.  It was a bunch of ministers, and I knew them all around here in town and that sort of thing.  They didn’t want to have a covert operation, so they sent one intelligence officer and me.

We identified ourselves and asked permission to attend the meetings.  We wanted to sit in on a meeting with Dr. King.  Reverend Andrew Young was in charge.  He said, “Sure, we’re glad to have you.”

The meeting was on the ninth floor of this hotel, and I went up there.  They were eating.  My God, they had some very scrumptious food.  My partner and I had a $12.50 per diem expense account, and you know we couldn’t eat in that hotel on that amount.

The Miami police had gotten a rental car for us.  Some of the ministers — these were ministers from around the country — didn’t like the hotel food, so we chauffeured them across town to a black restaurant.

That’s where King first gave that mountaintop speech, “I’ve been to the mountaintop.  I’ve seen the promised land.”  The last session of the conference he gave his speech, and everybody jumped and cheered and were clapping and all that sort of thing, and he slipped out the door and was gone.